


Hindsight

by capitalClockwork



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23676598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capitalClockwork/pseuds/capitalClockwork
Summary: Carlos had packed his things and left, not bothering to notify his family and friends, professors or colleagues.When the cars stopped driving past him, he kept going. He didn’t turn around when the vehicle shuddered and rattled to a stop. He simply stepped out of his motionless car, with a peace of mind he hadn’t quite felt before. He had left the car that his father had begrudgingly granted him; behind, in the endless desert.
Relationships: Carlos & Cecil Palmer, Carlos/Cecil Palmer
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

In hindsight, Carlos should’ve seen this coming.

He should have seen the odds and considered the possibilities of going to research a small, virtually unheard of town like NightVale.

In hindsight, he should’ve and shouldn’t have done so many things.

He should’ve picked any other fascinating place on the map, He should’ve turned around the moment he stopped passing other cars on the looming road, or when birds had slowly; but surely ceased flying overhead.

He should’ve run, as fast, and as far away as he could, when his car sputtered uselessly to a violent and sudden halt, or when the speaker in his vehicle turned on by itself, loudly broadcasting a radio channel that he had never heard before.

But he didn’t.

Carlos had packed his things and left, not bothering to notify his family and friends, professors or colleagues.

When the cars stopped driving past him, he kept going. He didn’t turn around when the vehicle shuddered and rattled to a stop. He simply stepped out of his motionless car, with a peace of mind he hadn’t quite felt before. He had left the car that his father had begrudgingly granted him; behind, in the endless desert.

The volume of the radio didn’t fade, no matter how far away he strayed from the vehicle.

He’d just walked, and walked, through the sandy plains, with his old and tattered suitcase in one hand, and his now useless car keys in the other. He wasn’t sure how long he walked. The cacti and desert botany looked as if they were repeating themselves. The only prominent and memorable landmark was a large, dignified hand-painted sign depicting the words: “Welcome To NightVale.” In elegant writing.

Upon seeing it, Carlos stared incredulously at the sign, sudden clarity and the impending weight of reality rushing back to him. His feet hurt. He kept staring.

The purple and white, intricately painted eye stared back; near judgementally.

Without him realizing, the sky had melted into the darkness. Thousands of stars freckled the night, easily visible against the vast universe. The soft lighting of what was supposedly was NightVale glowed serenely, tall and spider-like buildings and houses standing proudly.

And amidst all the chaos of existence, a little voice in the back of his mind offhandedly commented on how very quiet it was.

The only sound in the desert was the lone pitch of his harsh breathing, and a deep, soothing voice; emanating seamlessly from the dusty car radio.


	2. Chapter 2

Carlos arrived in NightVale at precisely 7:53 am. _(Or that is what it seemed to be, at least. His watch had been ticking backwards as of late._)

After wandering aimlessly throughout the town, he walked into a normal-looking pizzeria, appropriately named “Big Rico’s Pizza”, and was immediately greeted by a man who he correctly assumed to be “Big Rico.”

Rico smiled at him as he entered.

“You're Late! Your residence is right next door. Mind you, there’s a bit to clean up from the previous tenant, but I’m sure it won’t be too much of a problem.” Rico's voice echoed through the room. He didn’t breathe at all during the sudden outburst, nor did he after.

Carlos only sputtered, caught off guard by the sudden welcome. “Excuse me?” He floundered.

“Make yourself at home!” Rico replied, in no way answering Carlos’ question.

He only tossed Carlos a shiny set of keys that oddly smelled like sulphur, and walked into the back of the kitchen; presumably to make pizza, leaving Carlos in a state of perpetual confusion.

Deciding that he had no idea what else to do, he trudged next door to find that; true to Rico’s word, there and was indeed a large, gray building that opened perfectly with the key he’d been given. He was greeted with the sight of several pieces of lab equipment, a separate bedroom and bathroom, and a door with the words “bloodstone room” scrawled into it in rudimentary Spanish that he couldn’t wrench open in the slightest.

Contrary to his usual scientific curiosity, Carlos decided not to dwell on how NightVale knew he was a scientist, or that Rico hadn’t mentioned anything about rent.

Eventually, Carlos decided to unpack his meagre amount of possessions into the bedroom, and fall asleep, still donning his sandy lab coat.

He dreamt of nothing but inky blackness in a never-ending night sky.

———————————————————————

To say that he was confused the next morning would be an understatement.

Carlos woke up with the sound of a radio, despite never owning one, and several sticky notes of various colours covering his belongings, which is something that he _definitely_ would’ve remembered doing.

He ultimately was willing to ignore it and pass it off as a very realistic hallucination, and a direct product of his recent sleep deprivation.

Eventually, as he was a man of science, Carlos got to work almost immediately. He investigated the perimeter of his residence, taking samples of the dirt and plants, and spotting several pin-sized cameras in various locations, that he was determined not to look in the direction of.

Old woman Josie, who was his next-door neighbour, advised him to call a town meeting, which had just consisted of Carlos stuttering his name and occupation into the microphone as well as stating his intentions, before walking unevenly off of the stage. He never did like public speaking.

Further investigation revealed more strange things. He continued to _not_ acknowledge the hooded figures and bioluminescent figures strolling casually around town.

“_You can keep it together Carlos,” _he thought.

_“Maybe its spirit week or something. Perhaps there was something in the coffee.” _He repeated, almost like a prayer.

He tried not to be surprised about the strange dog park and vehemently paid no attention to the ominous helicopters and secret police.

He did, Carlos had to admit, jump a little when the radio said his name.

The radio host; first suspicious of him, now spun compliments about Carlos; waxing poetry about his flawless skin and perfect hair, which Carlos first wrote off as “mocking the newcomer in town” until the radio host sincerely stated that he was _deeply in love with him._

Which would honestly be flattering, and a little less creepy, if they had met before.


	3. Chapter 3

“Oh! You’re Cecil’s scientist, aren’t you!” Tittered Old woman Josie, handing him a receipt folded meticulously into a delicate paper crane, which Carlos had eventually accepted to be a bizarre form of greeting.

As of the pet name that Carlos had been unwillingly given, was definitely something that he would have deemed strange if he hadn’t heard it so many times. At least through the several citizens of NightVale that had called him by the somewhat derogatory nickname, he had found out the radio host’s name.

Cecil.

When he had first heard it, the name had stuck with him like a particularly stubborn bandaid. He asked about the name to the next person who said it, who happened to coincidentally also be Old Woman Josie. who was, of course, followed by what seemed to be a crowd of angels. As soon as she had said the name, Carlos had asked rather loudly, _who_ Cecil was, regretting it as soon as the words left his mouth.

Old Woman Josie had just squinted at him and said in a scolding, but teasing tone of voice.

“You should know who that is, Scientist.” She tutted. “Cecil’s the voice of NightVale- He reports on everything going on around here; the traffic, news, and even broadcasts the loveliest weather. He’s quite the valuable aspect of our little community, not to mention the longest surviving intern-turned host of NightVale Community Radio.” She explained in an almost proud tone of voice. Ce

“Oh.” Replied Carlos, dumbly.

_If he listened to Cecil’s show often, he wouldn’t say so out loud._

———————————————————————

When Carlos did finally meet Cecil, it was when he rushed into his recording studio, rambling about clocks, which wasn’t his worst first impression, at least.

The first thing he noticed about Cecil was that he was tall.

Even sitting down, with a distinctly surprised expression on his face—which quickly morphed into a giddy smile; he looked to be at least a good head taller than Carlos. To make up for his height, Cecil was thin, almost lanky, with intricate tattoos winding up his lean arms, contrasting harshly with his pale skin. Glasses rest upon his sharp, angled face and delicate nose, and a pair of heavy black headphones muss his stark white hair.

“Carlos!” Exclaimed Cecil smiling manically, rivalling most serial killers, and effectively snapping him back out of his stupor.

Continuing his rant about the apparent lack of sense of time in NightVale, Carlos promptly tried to ignore how Cecil was adjusting his lavender tie excitedly. He couldn’t see the colour of Cecil’s eyes, seeing as they were dilated to an amount that was slightly concerning, but he could have sworn they were blue—-almost purple.

And when Carlos followed his own advice, running out of the studio; still carrying his box of machinery, he couldn’t help but think that if Cecil’s eyes _were_ purple, that in itself, would be lovely.


	4. Chapter 4

The word “home” slowly and surely became associated with “NightVale.”

Although Carlos would never quite grow used to the insane events of NightVale, he did come to accept it. He came to learn the peculiar methods to pay for food, and how to say hello and goodbye, in such strange ways, that it was almost beautiful.

He even went along to accept Cecil as a dear friend.

His science experiments and research evolved and expanded as he learned more about the little town. If one thing stayed the same in NightVale, it was the number of things to investigate and experiment with.

_“The underground city. They’re coming.”_

Cecil predictably didn’t cease his flattering commentary about Carlos. His broadcasts were as eccentric as always, featuring content such as science facts for kids, to various methods of vivisection for beginners.

_“I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” he said, starting in the direction of lane 5. _ _“Someone has to.”_

Carlos couldn’t deny that the two of them had grown closer, but as true as that was, Cecil still confused him immensely. The sheer fact the Cecil _loved Carlos _was confusing. If he couldn’t stop thinking about Cecil sometimes, he was sure it was _solely scientific fascination_ and no other plausible reason.

_It was a city, a tiny, miniature metropolis._

As much as Cecil befuddled him, the radio in his room never stopped projecting Cecil’s soothing voice. Whether it was unable to or not was of no regard, as Carlos never tried to change the channel, least of all turn it off.

_He felt a sharp pain in his side. It was a tiny spear, the size of a pencil, embedded into his flesh._

“Whisper a dangerous secret to someone you care about. Now they have the power to destroy you. But they won’t. This is what love is.” Muses the radio.

_“Maybe I am in love” _ _Was his last coherent thought, while bleeding out on the ground of the underground city, surrounded by elegant spires and tiny, angry warriors._


	5. Chapter 5

The radio crackled, and Cecil’s voice poured out like molasses.

_“Let’s list some objects today.”_

_“A half knitted scarf. A broken music box. Empty clothing hangers. Small notes filled with tinier words. A long lost item, sitting in plain sight. A forgotten memory. A missing childhood toy. A golden wedding ring half buried under the beach sand, glinting harshly in the sun.”_

Carlos had been spending some time with Cecil lately. Enough times to learn his small quirks and silly habits, even the endearing way he stuttered when he was nervous.

_“Now something to think about.” _The radio continued.

He remembered when he idiotically leaped into the underground city.

_“Lost things are never really lost, they are always somewhere, at some time. You just are unable to find them.”_

Remembered the heart wrenching sound of Cecil’s quiet sobs.

_“Something that was so precious and valuable to you, could be meaningless and void of sentiment to another. The loss that you feel is only fuelled by the thought that the item that you have lost is somewhere on the earth, and always will be. Whether it becomes dirtied or frayed like a passing memory or raging car, whether it is destroyed, disappearing slowly with the everlasting wind, or a passing thought.”_

The shaking of his hand when he dialled Cecil’s number was fresh in his memory.

_“Lost things will always exist, regardless of whether or not they are with you anymore. They continue to exist and be, outside of your possession. The only thing you can hope is to believe that your loss will grant another joy or use. As if like parting words, or an unknown heirloom. To pass on heedless nostalgia to a host that will never feel your wanton need and longing for the very thing that they keep in their possession, never realizing its worth and value.”_

A thought. A hope. (“I just wanted to see you)

_“But this is a lesson. A lesson to learn from, but also a warning to heed. The act of leaving someone behind, or being left behind. A thing that will happen to everyone, eventually._"

The comfortable weight of a head in his shoulder, pure white hair tickling his neck.

_“Let’s name some objects.”_

The warm presence of a hand enclosed in his.

_“An unlit lantern. A handwritten letter. An unopened envelope. Something once colourful, faded in the sun.”_

Head in his hands, face heated, Carlos smiled.


End file.
